you say you’ll be there
but never show

the forecast calls
for meteor showers
so I lay a blanket

in the park
clouds obscure
the view

I guess tiny streaks
across the sky
are not magnificent

I throw a penny
into a wishing

and call a séance
for my father
in my dining room

the dead
don’t leave

on my voice


(originally published in Erothanatos, Spring 2020)


I equate falsities with wheat; groves as tea-
leaves in lands of blue sun. I confuse distance
with fair weather– idols in my mind: the beach

or Joshua trees. Golden fields have I never tilled.
Toiled, yes, in my lugubrious way, driving through
vast swaths of America, pasteurized pastures often

teeming with cows. Thinking of scale, it is
impossible to be upset at mathematics. But
I do aim anger at trajectory. For years I had

my eyes closed, pointed at a spinning globe.
When I opened them, in Mom’s basement,
my feet were planted where I remembered.

(originally published in The Drunken Llama, Summer 2021)

Truffle Shuffle Lodge (Hocking Hills, 2018)

a drone recording footage of
our cabin– if in the walls:
landlocked legs swinging
through the air in some
semblance of aerobics. finished
wood with trees climbing
architecture from first to third
floor, ticks of time rushing
beyond all stoppage,
mistletoe over the doors
& heads while everyone
sings songs of pretend
that nothing about us
will ever change.


(originally published in The Light Ekphrastic, Spring 2020)

ferns in memoriam

ferns in memoriam
in the room of you

the four walls   the plaster         so what
we would have had a life
together not just be alive
                                                  so what

I’ve learned to lose the leaves
the old days
          reminisce in new nostalgia
created   from a new & better era

my body alcohol’s punching bag
but the nights!    no straight-edge
James    nerdy
                       yes     but one that
lets me lets me lets me
grieve in the light


(originally published in In Parentheses, Spring 2020)


How long
to tolerate pain?

Many weeks
this cavity, severe,

this hole
turned wolf on me–

no more arguing
when they say go!

Problem is,
my philosophy’s

the way
the flag blows–

west to California,
no, east, no, Midwest

now. Transplant
for a transplant,

my flag flies stink
-bug, flatland,


(originally published in Erothanatos, Summer 2021)

When I Say I Love All Animals I Mean From Inside

   drinks from
           furry pond
               beside the catmansion

and I am ashamed–

       little vestibule of living
             as are we all this
                   needy, then,
                 these walls
                      the fringe
                            what we say is
                                     we shoo away


(originally published in The Headlight Review, Spring 2020)

I am thinking about envy

separate from the leaves and the grass
I am thinking about envy

                                              bark peels

from mind where flies congregate
in a protest to The Man

                                              The Man is a tree

he is (sadly) growing branches
inside the soft home of

                                               soil grasps

beyond my fingernails when I play
violin songs grass likes to grow for


(originally published in Jam & Sand, Summer 2020)

It’s 9:45 I’m Happy to Be Alive

I’m in bed an engine revs a motorcycle outside
someone on this street screams slow down
but I finish our pack of blueberries, I apologize
what for? We were both eating them. The small
sour ones. The large C-flat ones. Near the end
I say these kinda taste weird. You say they’re
very sweet. I apologize what for? Where I’m at
I can complain about such sweetness.

(originally published in impspired, Fall 2021)